Clara Edgley: The Road to Surwich
by Aleswall
Summary: The roads are not as safe as they used to be - The Road to Surwich is the story of a travelling Mage venturing south to reach the forgotten town of Surwich, and of all the obstacles and dangers she may meet on the way.
1. On the Road Again

**On the Road Again**

**North of Darkshire, 21/11/32**

That faithful night, in the later months of the thirty-second year, found the dense and darkened forests of Duskwood disturbed by an unearthly, fluctuating white light - Shining along the northern path between the Redridge Mountains and the hamlet of Darkshire. Though this white light was small, it was also powerful, the light from it shining through the canopy belt of moss-coloured leaves above, and being visible for a few hundred meters all around. Should one be interested in where said light was coming from, they would've followed it to it's source, the tip of an oaken staff, with a small, yet not frail, hand clasped around the centre.

This hand belonged to a woman - A girl, really, standing at the ideal height of five foot eight, her staff towering over her still. From what one could see of her face - Which was not a lot, the shadow her beige cowl cast concealed many of her features -, you could tell she had seen some adventure, her soft features littered with small cut scars. She was not an impressively strong character either, her body was rather thin and delicate. Light blonde, almost white in the staff-light, hair trailed down her shoulders to just below her breasts. Wearing a beige robe with hems and sleeves embroidered with jet black swirls and crescents - The colours and embroidery shared with her cowl and gloves, the gloves, of course, missing the fingers, though she sorely regretted it -, you would've been quite right to assume that she was both a traveller and a spellcaster of some sort. The girl's name was Clara Edgley.

Rain had been falling for the past few hours upon canopy belt above the girl's head as she continued to walk, she had been lucky enough to find her way south from the Mountains and into the woods just before the rain had begun to fall - She was only beginning to feel the raindrops bouncing from her cowl and running down her sleeves now, a few hours into her walk through the woods, the canopy layer's temporary protection clearly having expired.

Clara came to an abrupt halt as the path curved around a tall hill to the left, narrowing her mismatched eyes into the distance, lifting her right hand, and hence her staff, into the air. If it wasn't simply her mind playing tricks with her in the dark - She could've sworn something had moved to her right, the slight rustle of fallen leaves downtrodden into the dirt by light knows what was moving along the ground to her right. In response, she whirled around, facing the rustling as it moved and raising her staff up as high as she could.

"Show yourself!" Her voice echoed through the woods, shrill, yet filled with a blind challenge. It was met only by silence for a few, short seconds. Giving a sigh, Clara muttered lowly to herself, lowering the staff for a moment. Skimming the fingertips of her left hand over the light hovering above the gnarled, curled staff-tip - A small trail of blue began to form between her palm and light, giving off a low amount of light itself, though as soon as she lowered her hand, the light began to strengthen once more, pulsing out amongst the trees, she could see the distant spiders spinning their webs from trunk to trunk - Hoping to catch unwitting birds and insects, of course, though what interested her the most was the beast that stood in front of her.

It was oddly muscled, covered in thick, bulging muscle, it's eyes shone bright red and it's snout twitched at the turn of the wind, a large chunk missing from it's ear, though the truly distinguishing feature of this Worgen's appearance was it's rough and battle-scarred black fur, coating it's entire body in one shadow.

Upon noticing it had been sighted, the Worgen lurched forward, planting it's hands on the cobblestone road and growling in her direction, it's brown and yellow razor-like teeth visible in it's mouth. Raising her staff warningly, she held her left hand out, as if to tell the Worgen, in some kind of universal language, to stay back - However, this did little. The Worgen pounced, roaring out loudly as it did, opening it's jaws and revealing it's impressive set of teeth - Though Clara was no longer there to see it. She had ducked down, slamming the bottom-tip of her staff upwards and into the Worgen's chest, she managed to give it a few seconds longer air-time, managing to duck beneath it and twist around in time for it's claw swipe - Which caught her along the side of her abdomen, cutting through her robe, though luckily only skimming her skin.

Again, Clara chose to raise her hand, warning the Worgen to remain back, and again, it chose to ignore said warning, this time standing up on it's feet, towering over Clara more than her staff did, at least twice as wide as her, and almost twice as tall, the Worgen glared down at her with some sort of arrogance she could not stand.

"I warned you." The mutter came as a sly smirk spread across her face, still concealed in a shadow. With speed the Worgen could not have predicted, Clara slammed the tip of her staff down in between the cobblestones - The deafening crunch of a baby spider's shell being pierced hung in the air for just a short moment, before she tipped the staff lightly in the Worgen's direction. Upon being tipped, the light atop the oaken staff split in half - Half of it soared forth towards the Worgen, losing it's shape and structure, as well as it's unearthly glow, becoming azure in colour.

Within a second, the Arcane had struck the Worgen square in the chest, flinging it back with a sound reminiscent of a sizzle. A whimpering came, as well as the stench of burning flesh, the Worgen looking up at her with a new-found sense of fear, his ribcage visible due to the heavy burns on his chest. She took a step backwards - Hoping to continue on her way without the Worgen bothering her further, though of course, the Worgen had other ideas.

Her hand tightened it's grip around the staff as the Worgen pounced, it's claws raised, though it's jaws wide open and it's teeth glaring at her once more, tauntingly - Responding quite simply, Clara tipped the staff forwards towards his jaw, the remaining light disassembled also, losing it's shape and structure, becoming an azure blue with a gentle glow of it's own, before coalescing together and firing forth into the Worgen's jaw. The sizzling sound this time was accompanied by a loud whimper, a hint of growl in there also, as the Arcane burnt through the back of his throat - There was no blood, the arcane had cauterized the wound, though it was clearly causing the Worgen another issue. Choked gasps filled the air, as Clara turned her back, and began on her way once more, through the pattering raindrops and along the darkened path - Her light source extinguished.

The path had spiralled onwards for several more miles, the choking gasps of the Worgen were long behind her - Whether or not she had walked too far to hear them, or they had finally stopped, she did not know. Had Clara stopped long enough, she would've heard that above her, the rain had stopped falling. That was not to say the sun was now shining through the coalesced blanket of leaves - Duskwood rarely allowed for sunlight.

Her final stop had been made, and now Clara was continuing to stroll, rather cautiously since she had lost the magical light and the woods had been plunged into a semi-darkness, towards the hamlet she had heard much about. Of course, on her old adventures, she had, perhaps, rode through the town atop an armoured steed - Yet now she was intending to stay a few nights, and enjoy whatever it was the town had to offer. Rustling along the ground either side of the path continued - As she came nearer to the town, a horrid stench began to feel the air, one she had not tasted since the fall of the Kingdom of Gilneas. The first time she recognised it, she came to a halt, planting the tip of her staff onto the moss-covered cobblestone beneath her feet and peering around, taking a deep breath.

The stench was, of course, that of rotting flesh, coming from further down the road. Impatiently, Clara lifted her staff up then thrusted it downwards, the tip breaking into the dirt between the cobblestones, standing on it's own once it was let go. Peering about and concluding there was nothing of interest in the local area, Clara lowered her cowl. Pulling a scarf from her satchel, hanging from her right shoulder, she tied it tightly around her mouth and nose - Tucking the rest of the scarf down the back of her robe, before pulling her cowl back up once more. It was certainly tighter this time, though the stench was gone, at least.

Shortly after, she continued onwards.


	2. The Deadened Hamlet

**The Deadened Hamlet**

**Darkshire, 21/11/32. Later that evening.**

There were few towns in Azeroth that lived up to their name. Goldshire was not made of gold. Sentinel Hill was not covered in Night Elven sentinels. Yet with utter confidence, Clara could state that Darkshire was, indeed, exceeding it's name. At first, she hadn't noticed that she was entering the town, only a single lantern on a decrepit wall told her she had arrived. The northern road out of the town - Which Clara had spent the last few hours walking down - exhibited an arch towering over the moss-coated cobblestone path below, a small sign nailed lazily and hastily to the arch. In black paint coating the rotten wood, the word 'DARKSHIRE' was written. She could tell already this stay would not be as enjoyable as she had hoped.

Darkshire was almost silent. As she paced forward into the town, the gentle tapping of her staff on the stone path echoed around the town, bouncing between the two buildings either side of her, both of them looking neglected and depressed - The one on her right was clearly an Inn, yet the windows were caked in grime, the wood was clearly rotting, and she simply had to wonder why tiles were jutting out of the ground around the building. On her left, was a simple, previously luxurious, family house, one of the windows shattered and boarded up - Yet the inside was shadow. There seemed to be no movement or light of any sort.

The centre of the town was far worse, she thought, although it hardly seemed possible. The buildings were all circled around the centre of the town - A fountain marking this centre, the waters spurting from the top were murky, she couldn't even imagine attempting to take a drink from it. Four lamp-posts were impaled into the ground around the town's centre, two in front of the town hall, one on the corner of the decrepit family house, and one near a building which looked suspiciously like a forge.

Whether the silence reigning over the town was caused by the night, or simply by the town's nature, was unclear to her. A breeze swept through the town, causing her to shiver and tighten the scarf around her jaw, the lanterns creaking as they swayed on their rusted hinges, leaves rustling all around her as she turned, peering around the entire town, before her eyes rested on a path leading east towards, what she had heard, was the Deadwind Pass.

A man was walking down the path, towards her, wrapped in furs and with a lit, flaming torch held in his right hand. She stepped back, blending into the rotting wood of the Inn building quite well, and watched as he walked to the nearest lamp-post, on the corner of the family house, and opened a small hatch, reaching a hand in and smothering the flame with a pinch - That corner of the town centre was plunged into darkness as he stepped away from it, and toward the lamp-post by the forge.

However, as he passed near the Inn, Clara stretched her hand out, pushing the man's chest in a hope to stop him. She had been hoping to speak, though his reaction was one of utter shock, flailing his arms around, he managed to smack her in the chin with his knuckles, before jabbing the torch in her direction. It took a few moments for him to realise she was no monster - She was simply a traveller, his eyes widening once he realised.

"Apologies, miss! I-I didn't see you there" He took a few steps back, holding the torch above them, illuminating both of their faces and a few metres of their surroundings. Clara only smiled before speaking.

"No worries, no harm was done, hm?"

"I hope, Miss" He nodded, before continuing a few seconds later "So are you new around here?"

"Sort of. I'm travelling towards Surwich." She smiled, though upon seeing his confused expression, she added; "South of the Dark Portal, in the-.. Swampy bit."

"I see.. Where is your travelling party? In the inn already I take it?"

"I'm travelling alone, I'm afraid." Clara nodded, peering around the town against before looking back at the man, who had lowered the torch to hold it directly in front of her face, peering at her through narrowed eyes.

"You can't be serious.. Light above, or lack of, I haven't seen a lone traveller survive the way east or south in at least ten years!"

"Yes, well, I'm alone, and I really should be finding a place to rest.. This here is the Inn?" She jerked her head backwards, as if to point at the second largest building in town.

"It is, Miss."

She smiled and bowed her head for a moment, turning on her heel and strolling towards the Inn before he called out - Stopping her in her tracks.

"And I'm Richard, by the way! I do the lanterns around town." Richard smiled, giving her a brief wave as she called back.

"I'm Clara! I don't do much." Allowing a tiny smirk to slip onto her face as she turned back and continued strolling toward the Inn.

The Inn's door was closed. It was a solid door, unlike the rest of the town entirely, made of rather fine wood with iron hinges and a solid iron lock. She attempted to push it open, though the door would not budge, and eventually, she raised her left hand, rapping her knuckles on it. A response came a few seconds later - In the form of a few sounds from within the Inn. The scraping of chair legs upon a stone floor, footsteps upon wood, and most alarmingly of all, the gentle click a crossbow made when a bolt was loaded into it.

A minute had passed before, in front of her, yet a bit above her head, a small eye-slit was opened in the door, a pair of eyes glaring out to see who had dared knock. Yet as Clara looked, and the pair of eyes found her, she noted they appeared aged, tired, and fearful, rather than angry.

They eyed her over for a short moment, before the eye-slit closed again, the lock clicked and the door creaked open, revealing an interior devoid of light entirely. An old, frail man stood in the entryway behind the door, peering at her, letting out a grunt before muttering in a low, shaking voice.

"Y'better get in quick. Y'don't want to spend the night out here, do you?" His expression was riddled with fear, she could quite clearly see he simply wanted to slam shut the door, and never to open it again. Clara did as he asked, stepping into the Inn with an appreciative nod, and turning right into the Inn itself. She heard the door click shut and lock behind her. She could see the loaded crossbow leant against the fireplace.

The interior was dull and dark, each seat, save for one behind the bar, was covered in a thin layer of dust. Each window was too grime-encrusted to see through, and the large, impressive fireplace was filled only by dust-covered logs - The only light source in the room was a small lantern on the bar near an open book, the flame of it was barely an inch in height and it was a miracle it gave any light at all. The innkeeper stumbled back into the room shortly after, eyeing Clara over as she lowered her cowl and removed the scarf, tucking it back into her satchel.

"Y'staying for the night?" Was all he said as he shuffled along the floor back to the bar, sitting unsteadily back in his chair and pushing the lantern over the bar, beckoning her over with a gesture.

Clara leant her staff against the bannister near the stairs, passing by them to stand in front of the bar. The innkeeper looked up at her from his chair.

"I'm staying tonight and tomorrow night.. Do you have a spare room?" Clara smiled shortly, though she'd guessed his answer before it came.

"All of the rooms are free. Y'can take the one opposite the top of the stairs." He grunted, one hand shakily reaching under the bar, before placing down a small rusted iron key in front of her "Silver a night." was all he added.

Clara smiled shortly, laying two silver coins down on the bar, though the innkeeper didn't respond further. She slid the key from the bar and strolled away, collecting her staff on the way down, making her way up the staircase - Taking a sharp breath as she heard the creaking and felt the stair bend under her foot. She could swear the steps were splintering apart beneath her, as she made her way up to the second floor. Only one room had it's door shut, yet alone locked, and it was the door directly in front of her.

As soon as she had opened the door, she knew she had expected a bit much from the Inn. The bed was a simple single bed, tucked away in the corner under a small window. There was also a table in the other corner, near the window again. Yet there was nothing else in the room.

She sighed. It was bitterly cold, and the lack of a lit fire in the town didn't help. She chose to sleep in her robe that night, curling up into a tight ball, with her cowl surrounding her head and her scarf tied around her jaw.

It was still a horrid night.


	3. A Day in Darkshire

**A Day in Darkshire**

**Darkshire, 22/11/32**

Time didn't seem to pass as it should've in Duskwood. Clara spent the night dreaming of home, of her family's tidy estate in the forests of Elwynn, where the morning was always heralded by the dawn's birdsong. It seemed impossible to her that only a few miles south, the morning brought nothing. There was no birdsong, there was no inconveniently placed ray of sunlight peeking between the curtains and striking her face at the crack of dawn, there was nothing. It is needless to say that when she awoke, she had no little to no idea what the time was - Was it even morning? Had she slept for a day, she knew she was certainly tired enough to achieve it.

She stifled a yawn as she perched herself on the edge of the bed, rubbing her forehead with the base of her palms. It gave her the slightest sense of warmth, the first warmth she had felt since she had left the Redridge Mountains. She almost regretted leaving now, having stayed a night in Darkshire. But here she was, she thought, as she rose to her feet and peered around the pitifully decorated and filthy hovel they called a bedroom. She almost had to feel sorry for them. Letting a sigh escape her, Clara wrapped her fingers around her staff and pushed the door open to step out onto the landing.

The door slowly creaked shut behind her as she slowly began to descend the staircase. The creaking and bending over it unnerved her more than it had last night - What if the stairs were to break whilst she was on them? That particular thought slipped through her head quite a few times. Upon reaching the bottom, she noted that the room was exactly how she had left it the night before. The Innkeep was sleeping in his chair behind the bar. His sudden snore managed to give her quite a fright. His book still lay open on the rotten bar in front of him, the lantern next to it extinguished.

Shifting her staff into the other hand and leaning on it slightly, Clara peered around the Inn, looking for some kind of clock or something that might tell her the time. Alas, as she had expected, she found nothing. The kitchen might have been a wise next move, to search for breakfast, yet she doubted this place would hold anything edible - She would have to go elsewhere for her food instead, she decided. With that thought in mind, she nodded and shifted across the room towards the doorway - The door was, of course, much heavier than she had expected, it almost managed to trap her foot when it closed under it's own weight.

Once the door was closed, she heard a faint click coming from the lock. The click was enough to know that the door had locked.

Roughly an hour had passed since she woken up, and now Clara stood before the tallest of the town's buildings. Once it may have been a clocktower, though now it only stood as a death trap. Dislodged planks of wood lay on the cobblestone paths and dark moss green grass around the building. Some had survived their drop and simply lay there, others, however, had not, splinters lying around them. A few had even managed to impale the ground, jutting out of the floor dangerously.

This seemed to be the only building in the town with even the slightest sense of welcome - And even then, that was only because it's door was wide open. Inside, it seemed to be as dark and dull as the rest of the town. For her own safety, Clara muttered a few words and held her staff up slightly, the tip of it illuminating with the same unearthly white glow as the night before. Narrowing her eyes against the sudden glare of light, she shifted forwards and up the steps into the building. Passing through the doorway, she had to admire how, for a neglected building, everything was kept in order. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, each of the books labelled and tucked in neatly. On the left, there was a doorway into another room, yet directly in front of her and above a bookshelf, was a painting.

The painting was unlike anything else in the town. A man stood atop a hill, deadened grass around him, his armour was silver and his helmet was clipped to his belt. Brown, long hair was being swept along by the wind, as he held a hammer heroically in the air, a bright yellow glow in the air around it. Clara's mouth opened a bit as she stepped closer, eyeing the figure in the painting over, before averting her eyes to look at the background. Men were fleeing before him, running into the trees of what was, most certainly, Duskwood. Upon closer inspection, she noted that each of the men seemed to be missing limbs, their skin painted grey. Framed in wood, the painting merely was merely hung there on the wall, slightly crooked. Engraved into the bottom of the frame were the words 'Richard Cadogan. The Defender of Darkshire'.

After she was done looking at the painting, Clara turned to her left and slipped through the doorway into the next room, which was much the same as the previous, two tidy bookcases leaning back against a wall caked in dust and grime. All it lacked was that marvellous painting. And the name engraved onto the frame - Had she heard it before? It was certainly familiar. Perhaps, she realised, it would be possible to look the name up in a book? Or perhaps she could ask a local.

Before she could think on it further, however, she saw a figure shift in the room to her right. On instinct, she fell back against the bookcase and pointed her staff towards the door. The room opposite was briefly illuminated before her light began to flicker. Narrowing her eyes, the underlying sense she had during the night - That of being watched - returned. With a single, steady step, Clara moved into the room.

A ghastly figure was glowing in the light - Pale, wrinkled skin and a bald head atop an angry face, donned in tattered robes. For a moment, Clara had to wonder whether she was looking at an elderly man or some kind of Undead beast. She moved to strike anyway, but the yelling of the elderly man forced her to stop.

"Bloody hell, what d'you think you're doing?!"

Clara hesitated before lowering her staff and peering the man in the face, mumbling an apology.

"Sorry, sir, I- Uh… I thought you were trying to attack me" She admitted, peering around the darkened room as light returned to the tip of her oaken staff and lit it up.

"What?! Do I look like a man who could bloody attack someone?" He shouted again - Though before she could reply, he lowered his voice and spoke again.

"Wait, you're not a local… Who the bloody hell're you?"

"My name is Clara. I'm just travelling." She smiled slightly, giving a tiny bow of her head.

He narrowed his eyes before nodding, grunting in reply. He observed her for a few seconds before speaking.

"Mrh. It is good to meet you, I suppose. I'm Edmund, the town's historian."

"Oh, a historian? Well, it's good to meet you too, Edmund."

"Mister Harbeck to you." He nodded rather sternly.

"But you only gave me your first name!" Clara frowned.

"But still." He nodded. She understood from that he wanted to move on.

"Right, but, history, yeah? I'm studying Elven history at the moment."

"I see… Do you need anything? Our conversation is boring me." He added bluntly. Clara shook her head in reply and Harbeck moved around her, and towards the door.

Before he could leave, however, Clara called out to him.

"Who's Richard Cadogan?!" She asked.

"Defender of Darkshire!" The grumpy reply came moments after.

Clara frowned.

The rest of her day was spent in that same room, leaning over a large tome she had found. It was titled 'History of the Grand Hamlet', yet it contained no knowledge of anybody called Richard Cadogan doing anything for Darkshire. Clara knew enough of history books, being a student herself, to realise the event was too recent to be included in an aged book. Instead, she had, now, moved onto the people records of Darkshire. She did, indeed, locate the name. Richard Cadogan had moved to Darkshire in the year twenty-five, yet no other information was present. With a sigh, she gave up and rose to her feet, picking up her staff once more. Departing the building, she gave the painting one final glance before walking out onto the dull street.

She could see, across from her, Richard was strolling around the town at his own pace, extinguishing each lantern for the night. Narrowing her eyes, she noted his brown hair swept up in the slightest night-time breeze, and how he seemed to be the only one not fearing to step into the shadows around the town. A low mutter escaped her lips as she stared, her eyes glancing back to the wall opposite the door in the building she had just left.

"Richard Cadogan?" She muttered.

Before she could do anything more, a guttural roar came from north of the town. Spinning about, she stared into the hills, the one remaining lit lantern stood before her. She could see the shifting figures in the trees. Calling out to Richard, she discovered that he had vanished - She was alone, she thought. Muttering a few words, the tip of her staff resumed it's unearthly pale glow, and her spare hand burst into blue flames. Clenching her fingers, the blue flames pulled themselves together in her palm to form a fireball.

And then they came.


	4. Late Afternoon of the Almost Living Dead

**Late Afternoon of the Almost Living Dead**

**Darkshire, Late afternoon, 22/11/32**

The first of them arrived in a pack of four, running - If one could call it that - down the old unused path between the forge building and the town hall. Curling her fingers further, Clara bided her time and watched their movements, noting their dry appearance before hurling the fireball forth for the first one. The blue fireball struck it square in the chest, the flames quickly spreading across it's torso as the thing continued to run towards her. Fairly soon, the flames reached it's legs and it began to lose it's integrity, dropping to the ground as a pile of twitching limbs and body parts. One of the other Ghouls fell over the flaming one the second it had fallen, its limbs pressing against the blue flames, it, too, was soon wriggling about on the floor, struggling to stand up as the flames coated it.

Clara took a few steps back to appreciate her work as the other two continued to advance, the distant guttural roaring becoming louder.

"Oh hell…" Clara muttered, pointing her oaken staff at the nearest one. Part of the bright light contained within the top burst out in a loose barrage of blue Arcane. The barrage collided with it's shoulder, dislodging it's arm which flew backwards along the ground and landed in the heap of blue flames. Luckily, the force was also enough to send it off it's feet.

The fourth, however, managed to scrape it's claws along her shoulder, though she managed to move back in time to avoid it breaking the fabric. Muttering a few words, her spare hand burst into blue flames again. This time she didn't have any time to bother forcing the blue flames into a fireball, instead she merely hurled them at the ghoul in a blue fireblast. The fire wasn't enough to send it off it's feet, though the force of it did manage to break a few ribs out, and it's dry flesh did catch on fire. Spreading over it quickly, the flames devoured the brittle skin and dead hair with ease, a pile of bones lying in the Ghoul's place only moments later.

Occupied by the fourth ghoul, Clara hadn't noticed the new arrival in town. Instead, she spun her around, swinging her staff wildly, the bottom tip of it catching the Ghoul in the ribcage and hitting it's spine, which bent out of shape upon being struck. It seemed to have quite a few issues following her after that, until eventually, it staggered into the heap of blue flames and caught on fire itself.

Hunching over to catch her breath for a moment, Clara remained blissfully unaware of the lumbering monster lurching forwards behind her. Patches of it's skin were sewn together with coarse thread, each one a different colour, some of the patches were split down the centre, revealing the heap of organs piled together to give the thing mass inside. Each step it's ribcage cracked and splintered beneath it's weight. It's mouth was sewn shut and yet it's roars could be heard for miles all around, both of it's eyes fixated on the hunched over girl in front of it.

With a grunt, it lashed out with it's arm, striking Clara in the side and sending her sprawling to the right. Her oaken staff fell where she had stood with a clatter. Head spinning, she looked up in time to avoid the barrel being thrown at her, rolling along the floor to avoid it. She muttered a few slurred words and blue flames crackled into existence on her right hand, throwing them loosely in the creature's direction. Dry flesh singed as the flames struck the exposed area of it's ribcage, though nothing caught on fire, a roar escaping from-.. Actually, with it's mouth sewn shut, she wasn't entirely sure where the roar was coming from.

Clara grunted as the thing lurched nearer to her, taking it's time to do so. She could easily have ran from here, she knew. She likely could've made it into the Deadwind Pass before it had even left Darkshire, though she knew it wouldn't be so easily lead away from the town. Instead, she chose to hold up her oaken staff, pointing it at the thing's head – Moreso a lump of flesh on top of it's "shoulders" with a sewn-shut mouth and empty eye-sockets – before muttering a few words. Continuing to glow for a few seconds, the staff eventually began to emit a low humming, the light contained within the tip escaping and forming into two tendrils, each one snaking around the staff to form a sphere around it's tip, no bigger than the size of her tiny fist.

The thing still hadn't even noticed her preparing this attack, lurching forwards, it clutched the remains of a barrel in one of it's human-like hands, though it hadn't bothered to throw them yet. Desperately, Clara continued pressing more and more into the sphere, until it was complete, a ball of white, swirling light hovering in the air. She reached out and closed her hand around it, it's surface warm and pulsating as she lowered her hand with it held firmly in her fingers.

Finally, the thing had reached her, staring down at her with it's drooping, empty eye sockets. She wondered if it could actually see her, though before she could tell, it struck. With an impressive speed, the thing had lifted it's foot and kicked her straight in the abdomen, sending her flying back into the wall behind her. She landed with a crash and several loud cracks.

Head spinning, she attempted to pull her thoughts together, though her vision was merely a blur and all she could hear was her own pulse. From what she actually could feel, both of her hands were now empty, and from the blur of light stretching across her vision, brightest on the right-side, she could estimate that the ball of light was lying somewhere to her right and nearby. Her staff, she had little to no idea of. Moments passed before she was able to place her hand flat on the floor and push herself into a sitting position against the wall.

Silence reigned for a golden moment before the barrel the thing had been holding collided with the wall next to her, shattering into wooden splinters and metal fragments. A scream escaped her mouth as one of the metal fragments must've pierced the ball of light, which burst like a bubble with a deafening pop, leaving behind nothing besides a small four-foot-across crater where it had fallen. Clara grumbled. Had she managed to push the ball into the thing's ribcage, it would've simply shattered and exploded under that force. Now, however, she had to continue without it.

Half a minute of concentration was all it took for her vision to return properly, her hearing returning fairly soon after. The thing was currently lurking around the centre of the town, hurling things at the fountain with it's low growl continuing on. She wasn't quite sure what it was attempting to do – Likely to break the fountain, though she doubted it would accomplish this. Instead, she turned her attention to finding her staff, which was a fairly simple task now that she could see properly again – Her staff was lying in the soil a few yards away, tossed aside by the ball's explosion moments ago.

And then everything seemed to happen at once. A figure appeared, stood further up the eastern path out of Darkshire, a golden glow swarming around him as he stepped forwards. Clara narrowed her eyes and continued to simply lie there, the figure stretching his hand out and pointing it at the thing.

"You! You there! Leave this town at once!" A familiar voice shouted out into the town centre. A low growl was returned before it launched itself at him, stampeding forwards and stepping over Clara. It lifted it's hand up to attack him when both him and Clara attacked at once.

Clara's conjured white-and-blue flames struck the thing in the back of the "head", searing it's flesh which fell to the ground in droplets of thick white mess. A few of the seams holding patches of skin together began to burn also, soon enough, his cracked and patch-worked skull was all that remained of his head. At the same time, Richard Cadogan had attacked, the yellow glow situated around his hand concentrated and formed a bright bolt which leapt forwards from his hand and slammed itself into the thing's chest. It roared out in some kind of agony as it staggered, it's skin singeing and searing beneath both of their attacks.

Neither of them held back for a single moment, Richard had strode forwards and heaved his hammer from his back, wielding it in both hands, the light glow swarming them seemed to transfer onto the weapon. Lifting up and over his heard before hurling it forwards, the hammer spinning in the air before impacting on it's "head". It's "head" promptly cracked beneath the hammer, which lodged itself in the thing's shoulders. Another roar of agony sounded as Clara sent more white-blue flames at it, this time attacking it's arm, the thick and coarse thread holding it open began to burn away. Lumps of melting skin began to drop to the floor, and soon enough, it's right arm was non-existent, lying on the floor as nothing more than a pile of bone and sinew. The flames continued to spread over the thread until the thing, itself, was nothing more than a pile of bone and sinew – Richard's hammer sitting triumphantly on top, it's handle raised in his direction.

"R-R…" Clara tried to speak, however, before she could, her hand clasped the wall. Her legs were shaking and weak, she reflected, as she leant forwards. The world went black as she collapsed, the last thing she noticed was Richard rushing forwards to catch her. He failed. Her head hit the floor.

"Ow." Was the last thing she managed to say.

"Sorry!" Was the last thing she managed to hear.


	5. Bedside Visits

**Bedside Visits**

**Darkshire, 23/11/32**

**9:21**

Clara did not awake until the next morning. In a rush, she opened her eyes and made to sit up, however, she found a hand pushing her down. It took her a moment to notice the harsh, cold, cobblestone path had been replaced beneath her – By a bed. And her ill-lot surroundings were replaced by an Inn room, two candles sitting alight in sconces opposite each other. The door was across from her, and leaning over her with his hand on her chest to keep her held down was the Innkeeper. Clara merely stared at him for a moment, unsure yet of how to make her mouth move, even more confusing was how speaking worked. She frowned. Had anybody ever worked that out anyway? Before she could think further on the subject, the Innkeeper spoke.

"Mhh, y've been out a long time." Was all that he said before strolling back into the worst lit corner of the room, perching himself on an old chair which rocked back and forth. It wasn't designed to be a rocking chair, Clara was sure.

It was a good moment or two before she could string a few words together and force them from her mouth.

"What happened?" She half-blurted out, the words coming as more of a slur than a complete question.

The Innkeeper merely snorted.

"You and Cadogan beat 'em back, then y'fainted. Been out for a few hours, mind y'" He nodded conclusively and placed his hands on the arm-rests of the chair.

Clara lay back down and stared up at the planked ceiling, delving through the flashes of memory from the night before. She certainly remembered being hurled back against the wall, as well as Richard marching down the hill and hurling the Light at the thing. She wasn't even sure what it was they'd killed. It was most certainly undead, though, living things did not tend to walk around held together by patches of sewn-together skin. It still made her shiver, even now.

"Is he alright?" She asked, lifting her head enough to stare at the Innkeeper. A lock of hair fell in front of her left eye. Normally, she'd have put all of her effort into brushing it aside and tucking it behind her hear. Though admittedly, all of her effort right now was just about enough to stay awake.

"Cadogan? Mh, he's fine. Brought y'here and told me t'light a bloody candle. 'Course, it's easy not t'fear being caught by the Undead when y're a –Paladin-, but try being an ordinary bloke like m'self." He ranted for a little while, ending in a low mumble and growl. Clara highly suspected he was cursing Richard's existence.

"Where is he now?" Her hand moved to pull the covers away from herself, hoping to stand up, though as soon as she clasped the fabric in her hand, she fell backwards against the pillow, taking slow and deep breaths.

"Y'really shouldn't do anything for a few hours. Soon as y'do, y're out by the way. Your stay is up." The Innkeeper nodded, tapping his rusted and non-functioning pocket watch lightly, before moving on to answer her question upon spotting her annoyed glare "How should I know where he's gone? Wherever heroes go when they aren't needed, I'm guessing." He gave a light shrug of his shoulders and leant back into his chair once more.

Clara returned to lying down, staring at the ceiling once more. She realised something she hadn't thought of before coming here, something that could possibly have changed her mind… She really bloody hated Duskwood.

**11:49**

She was soon awoken again, her eyes blinking against the considerably stronger light – Two more candles had been placed in the room, apparently, and she had no doubt it was Richard's request. The Innkeeper hobbled across the room towards her, mumbling lowly to himself, before dropping a tray on her lap. A tiny splash of, what could only be described as, tomato drowning in water escaped the bowl on the tray, staining the cup of tea next to it. A lump of bread, steaming from where it had been warmed, lay next the bowl. A weak smile came to her face as she shuffled herself into a sitting position, looking at the Innkeeper.

"Thank you. Do I.. Owe you anything for lunch or-?" Clara began to speak but was soon cut off by the Innkeeper.

"Mh, no, Cadogan already paid. Y'still have t'leave tonight though. No escaping it."

"Oh, uh.. Okay, thank you." She gave a warm smile as her nodded and hobbled from the room, closing the door behind him.

Clara fell back into the pillow, staring at the closed door. Richard seemed to be taking care of her quite well, she thought, bringing her here first, demanding candles second, and now paying for her lunch. A tiny grin came to her face as she picked up the warm lump of bread and dipped it into the red, watery soup. When she lifted it out, she had to wait a few moments for the soup to drain off before raising it to her mouth and taking a bite from it. All in all, it wasn't bad. The soup certainly had a strange taste to it, and it's texture was water-like, though the bread seemed to make up for most of this quite well. It wasn't long before she had finished the bread and the soup, and had pushed them aside on the tray to make way for the cup of tea. As a Gilnean, tea was, of course, her best friend through everything.

Finger hooked through the teacup's handle, Clara raised it to her mouth and took a long sip. It's taste wasn't awful, though it wasn't fantastic either. Regardless, it was enough to force a relaxed sigh escape Clara's mouth as she reclined, leaning back into the pillows and closing her eyes.

**2:16**

She was next awoken two or three hours later to find two people standing near the door of the Inn room. Blinking, she noted their appearances quickly. The nearest was a young man, no older than twenty, with his head lowered and twiddling his thumbs nervously. He wore, what could be described as, guard's chainmail armour – Lightweight and ideal for running in.

Her attention moved to the woman near the door, a scowl on her face, and a glare being sent to the man every few moments. She, too, wore the chainmail armour, though she also wore some form of rusted iron badge. Clearly, she was a superior of his.

"Apologies for disturbing you, Mrs Edgley." The woman bowed her head lightly, though the gesture was odd to her, clearly. The man sniffled lightly. "I am Rebecca Locke, I help to run the town's guard and defence."

Clara frowned to this. Her town defence had clearly failed. Normally, Clara would've drawn satisfaction from this, however she could feel the bandages wrapped around her stomach beginning to itch the more she moved. She hated it.

"This young man is the lookout who abandoned his post last night whilst our –town- was raided by –undead- and an –innocent woman- had to step in!" She began in a quiet, polite tone, however quickly raised to an angry shout – And it wasn't directed at her either, around the middle of her sentence, she'd turn to face the man, who only flinched away with every single yell.

Clara narrowed her eyes, peering to the man. She did feel sorry for him. Only a bit. He had nearly gotten her killed, after all. With her own children waiting at him, she was likely to give him a slap the second he got close. An agitated frown forced it's way onto her face, in place of her normally friendly smile.

"Why?" She asked, cutting off anything else Locke might have said. The lookout looked up to clarify that she meant him. When he was fairly sure, he began to speak.

"I-I just.. I went to see my family." He stood there for a moment, looking at her before suddenly throwing himself down next to the bed. Rebecca merely rolled her eyes and then averted them, suddenly becoming very interested in the candles.

A sudden understanding struck Clara almost as hard as the low wall had the night before. She frowned, more out of sorrow for the man than anything else. He was trying to get words out, she could tell, though before he could finish any of them, she reached out with her hands, stretching both of her arms out. The lookout stared at her for a few moments, almost in a state of disbelief, before standing up and leaning over, wrapping both of his arms around her in a cautious hug. Clara smiled, hugging him back for a few moments before patting his back.

"It's alright, I know you didn't mean for anything to happen. I'm only a bit mad. Promise." Clara grinned, letting go and falling back into the pillow in time to catch Rebecca rolling her eyes again. Clara had to wonder how many times per day she did that.

The lookout gave a small smile, nodding his thanks before turning around and walking towards the door. Clara stopped him by speaking before he managed to reach it right.

"Are your family alright, then?" She asked, her rather bright smile slipping back onto her face, the frown returning to-.. Wherever frowns go when they're not on your face. Clara had to wonder if any research had ever been done into that.

He smiled slightly.

"Y-Yeah, they're, uh, they're fine." He nodded, bowing for a few seconds before turning and exiting the room.

Rebecca looked quite annoyed, Clara had possibly just ruined her punishment for her lookout, though she didn't mind too much. She could understand why he did it, as much as she hated that he had. She turned and left the room after that, giving Clara only a grunt as a goodbye.

A tiny grin slipped into her smile once more, and she leant her head back against the pillows.

**2:50**

The final time she was awoken that day, she found an elderly man, pale as a ghost, placing something on the bedside table next to her. Upon turning her head in it's direction, she spotted a large leather-bound book with the gold letters 'A History of the Kingdom of Azeroth: First Edition' printed on the cover. Edmund gave her a weak smile and released the book, hobbling over to the chair in the corner, where he sat down.

"Good afternoon, Clara." He smiled as soon as he had sat down, slightly out-of-breath for a few moments. She sat up a bit. Some strength had returned to her arms and legs, which was nice. It wasn't a fantastic feeling to be unable to sit up in bed, yet alone to stand up.

"Afternoon, Edmund.. What's the book for?" Clara smiled lightly, propping herself up on her elbows – Both of which were immensely sore and bandaged. She was sure she had scraped them on the low stone wall when the thing had thrown her into it.

"Well, you know, you did save our little town last night. Or, well.. Let me rephrase that. You saved it until the hero managed to turn up. That, to me, is also a hero." He grinned, leaning forward a bit. Clara could've sworn she saw him wink at her, though it could merely have been a trick of the light.

"Right… Are you sure? It, uh, it says first edition. It's a bit valuable to just give it away, right?"

"I'm hardly giving it away, miss Clara, never give it away. I'm giving it to someone who –deserves- it." Edmund leant back in the chair and stared at the candle for a few moments, reaching a hand up to scratch the corner of his mouth before continuing "Let me tell you, of a time. There was a time, years ago, when I was the adventurer of the Grand Hamlet. Sword and shield in hand, I'd.. Run. Through the fields and the forest before this land became what it is. I'd slay whatever stood in my way, wolves and boars, whatever they may be, they wouldn't survive me.

"My parents, of course, became concerned. Eventually, time caught up with me. I was too slow. Underestimated the one man I shouldn't have underestimated. Regardless, I returned to the Grand Hamlet with nothing to show for what I'd accomplished. I settled into the job I have now, eventually." He finished, leaning back in the chair. Clara frowned, unable to derive any meaning from his anecdote, though she was sure it was there.

"Why're you telling me this?" She narrowed her eyes as he opened his and leant forwards in the chair.

"I tell you this, miss Clara, for one reason. Time caught up with me and I had to return to Darkshire. Time catches up with me now and, well.. Life is a cycle. There is life and there is death, both in equilibrium. I'll soon be giving back to life, I'm certain." He grinned upon seeing her rather shocked expression though continued "Of course, I'm not asking for it, but…" His eyes loitered over the book for a moment before back at Clara "… It's time my generation handed the legacy of ours over. It's yours now, Clara. Take good care of it, and yourself, of course."

With this, Edmund rose to his feet and hobbled towards the door. He'd just opened it and stepped out when Clara spoke.

"I'll come and visit. On my way home, in a week or two, I promise!" She frowned. He merely smiled.

"We'll see." He said, as he shut the door and disappeared from sight.

She was about to lean back against the pillows once more, and fall, again, into a deep sleep, though she was interrupted. A man with brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and his beard neatly trimmed, stepped through the doorway, closing the door behind him. His armour was chainmail with a few plate elements for his knees, shoulders, elbows, and chest. His tabard was that of the Alliance. His appearance brought a smile to Clara's face.

"Hi, Richard." She sat up to look at him properly "Thank you for, uh… Everything, really."

"There is no need to thank me, Clara. You defended the town until I could arrive, for that, I can only thank you." He smiled, sitting down on the edge of the bed and peering at her "The Innkeeper tells me you'll be leaving soon."

"Yeah, well. I only had enough to pay for two nights. Besides, I was sticking to a schedule, really. Two days here, then four to get through the Pass." She nodded.

"I see, well. If you wouldn't object to having me, I'd be delighted to accompany you south. The road is dangerous, as you've seen. I fear the dangers you've faced in our town will be the lightest of them all." Richard smiled, reaching a cold, plated glove out to brush that lock of hair from in front of her eyes. Clara cheered inside. That lock had been driving her insane all day.

"Oh, uh… Are you sure? What if the town gets, like, raided again?" Clara asked, frowning lightly.

"It won't, I assure you. If you don't want me to come, that's fine also. I know some prefer to travel alone." Richard nodded, his smile faltering for a moment.

"No, no, you can come! That's fine!" Clara laughed lightly, leaning back against the pillow.

Richard laughed as well.

"That's wonderful! We'll meet downstairs in… Half an hour? I'm sure that'd be enough for you to get ready?" He asked.

Clara merely nodded as he rose to his feet, walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out, closing it behind him. A bright smile came to her face immediately after he'd left. She'd made a friend.


	6. The Pass

**The Pass**

**Darkshire, 23/11/32**

Forty-five minutes had passed when Clara descended the old, rotting staircase. Her staff was held in her right hand once again and prepared to create light to illuminate the room – Though it was not needed, a small fire crackling away in the hearth, and many candles lit around the room. Loud snores came from behind the bar, the Innkeeper slouched back against his chair and fast asleep. Clara's eyes then fell on Richard, leaning against the hearth's stone mantelpiece and humming a low song to himself, the light from the fire dancing across the steel and gold of his armour.

"Hello?" Clara said as she strolled forwards, being wary not to disturb the bandages wrapped around her shoulders.

"Ah, hello!" Richard exclaimed as he noticed her, his humming ceasing and a slight smile spreading onto his features, barely lit in the light of the crackling fire. "Ready to go, then?" he added.

Clara merely nodded, fixing her satchel to sit properly on her shoulder, though she grimaced for a moment as her hand skimmed over the wound in her shoulder – Which she had gained from fainting. Typical, she had thought when she was told. Richard didn't seem to notice this, he had already wandered out of the Inn and back into Darkshire. Turning, Clara followed him out of the Inn, closing the heavy door behind her on the way out.

The town's centre was exactly as she remembered it, save for two differences. The first was the light flickering in the Town Hall's entry hall, which Richard quickly explained was a Councillor's meeting in progress. The second was the pile of Undead bodies stacked near the fountain. Whilst Richard continued to ready himself for the journey ahead, Clara nudged the pile of corpses with her foot.

"How did they get through, then?" Clara asked, glancing over her shoulder in time to see Richard frown "Surely the town has a lookout?"

"It does. That body on top, the Undead. That is the lookout." He nodded solemnly as he crouched down again to continue re-arranging the contents of his satchel.

A frown slipped on to her face as she turned to look at the pile, noting the body on top and giving it a respectful nod. It felt odd to her, to have lost so much to the Undead, yet to have respect for one of their kind. She supposed it came from sympathy of some sort. Clara continued standing there for a moment longer, before Richard placed his plated hand on her good shoulder, his large hammer strapped across his back.

"Right, then, lets make a move, shall we?" Clara smiled slightly, looking east out of town. The path she had barely paid attention to before was laid out before her now – A twisted cobblestone path which rose up into the hills and out of the town, out beyond the cover of the deadened trees and into new lands. Richard merely nodded and they both set off on their long walk to adventure.

The town was much larger than Clara had anticipated, for it seemed most of the homes were hidden up along the eastern path, slotted in between hills, and half-hidden by untamed, yet somehow still dead, grass. Hanging high above them, the thick canopy layer was beginning to thin, glances of sky being visible every now and then as they walked. Soon, they had left the town and were walking between two stone hills, stripped of all grass and dirt, they were merely grey. It was here that Clara lit her staff for the first time and held it up to illuminate their path. She'd been hoping that the sun would be able to light their path, though it seemed to always be night-time in Duskwood – Canopy layer or not.

As the evening began to pass them by, the path curved around to pass by the front of a decrepit old tower, which Clara insisted they stop for. Richard seemed less enthusiastic and soon began to explain why, when Clara attempted to explore inside of it.

"A Necromancer once lived her. Abercrombie, I believe. We had a young adventurer pass through and he exploited them to build the ultimate Abomination." Richard explained slowly, giving a dramatic pause after each sentence and nodding to affirm his point. "Stitches, I believe he called it. It was defeated, of course, though it was the worst attack the town has suffered in recent years."

"Hrm, I see. You'd prefer if we left the tower alone?" Clara turned, holding her staff up to illuminate Richard's face better. Even she could read the signs of fear on his face, and so she only nodded, and returned to the path, where they simply continued to walk.

That night they made camp under the shadow of small stone ledge jutting out from the side of the hill. After a short glance, they had decided the space was dark enough, and large enough, for them to both sleep at once so long as they were quiet. It was not as peaceful as they had hoped, the howls of far off Wolves and the guttural roars of the Undead disturbed their sleep many times. The next morning was no better either, as both of them rose and began to pack away their belongings into their satchels. Clara glanced over as Richard was packing up, and was moderately surprised to note a journal – With the crest of Lordaeron etched into the cover. She chose not to say anything that early in the morning, and the two simply continued walking.

The stone hills soon stopped, replacing by taller stone cliffs either side of them. These were made of a much darker and rougher stone, arches occasionally hanging over the path, old strands of spider web dangling from them even now. Richard stopped and gripped Clara's arm, gesturing for her to hold the staff up. She did so, and brightened it as well. Before them, the two black stone cliffs continued onwards, twisting and taking their path with it – Though the path had gone now, the moss-covered cobblestones of Duskwood stopped where their feet lay, though the road continued into the shroud of shadows which lay ahead.

"Hrmph. Welcome to the Deadwind Pass." Richard nodded, taking a step forwards into the land. Clara followed him and was almost immediately able to feel something. It wasn't physical, surely, though it felt as though she was being watched constantly. Duskwood had felt peaceful compared to this. Pushing the feelings aside, she began to walk at a quick pace down the road that lay open to them.

Only a few minutes had passed when Clara began to speak, attempting to draw her mind away from the fear that something was watching her as she walked.

"So. You're from Lordaeron, then?" She asked, attempting to hide the curiosity in her voice.

Richard glanced over to her before returning to watching the top of the stone cliffs either side of them – He, of course, knew what to look for within the Deadwind Pass.

"I am, yes. I was born in Capital City." The words seemed heavy on his heart, as if he carried a large burden on his shoulders, and it was all tied in with the Capital City of Lordaeron.

Clara didn't question further, though Richard continued to speak.

"I lived there until the Scourge came, at least. I was a Paladin in training, at that time. I remember it well. I was walking, along the path between my house and the Cathedral, when the bells began to rang. They rarely rang with such urgency and I, along with many others, hurried over there. The town crier was screaming, words streaming from his mouth. He spoke of the dead rising and the fall of Stratholme, though at the time we understood none of it. Of course, I was immediately told to head north and investigate Stratholme. There I met…" Richard halted there, his voice faltering and his eyes dropping to the floor for a few moments before he continued "… Such destruction. The city was a burning wreck and the people lay dead on the floor. I was told Prince Arthas had caused all of it. That was when I was ordered by the Silver Hand to head south and seek aid from Ironforge, the city of the Dwarves. Of course, by the time I was able to return.. It was far too late. Prince Arthas had returned and destroyed the City. I only had time to round up a few of the refugees and bring them south to the New Stormwind City." He finished his tale and continued watching the hill tops as they walked.

Clara frowned, glancing up at Richard before speaking.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'd heard about the destruction, but I wasn't there myself. I'm from Dalaran." She nodded, lifting her staff back up and glancing behind her. With a scowl, she noted the road into Darkshire was now shrouded in shadow and hidden from sight entirely.

Richard held his arm out suddenly, Clara walking straight into it, about to exclaim pain – It had jerked her wounded shoulder – before she was hushed by Richard. He pointed ahead with his left hand, an unearthly white glow on the cliffs head, though neither of them could see far enough to determine it's source.

"That's not you?" Richard merely asked. Clara shook her head and allowed her staff to dim, though the glow ahead only seemed brighter for it. She re-lit her staff and the bright burst of light, before the staff dimmed to it's usual brightness, illuminated a sign hastily jammed into a crack in the floor. Both of them paced over to it, Richard crouching down to read the hastily scrawled words;

"_BEWARE THE DEATHSINGER_"

With a new air of both curiosity, dread, and fear, the two continued to walk, emerging out into the glow, and staring at the source.


	7. The Banshee of the Bridge

**The Banshee of the Bridge**

**Northern Deadwind Pass, 24/11/32**

Before them lay a chasm running deep into the ground, and continuing onwards for as long as the eye could see. The cliffs had stopped along the path now, allowing for thin ledges either side of the chasm before they rose steeply once more. A stone bridge, clearly a stone pillar that had fallen over, lay over the chasm before them, and from there is where the glow originated. At first, it seemed to be only a spherical fluctuating light hovering in the centre of the bridge, the cliffs around the chasm dancing in its light. Though as they approached, it seemed to take form, unravelling and straightening up. It came clear to them then that this was no ordinary light – This was a spirit. It rose up as a Human would, though its feet didn't touch the floor. It was adorned in the ugliest dress Clara had ever seen, torn and blood-splattered, though she could only see the back of it as the spirit faced away from them.

Richard raised a hand to the spirit, though it couldn't see him yet, as he stood on the bridge's border.

"Spirit! We mean you no harm! Do you allow us to pass unharmed?" He shouted in its general direction. The spirit did not turn, but merely continued to bob up and down, and eerily stare at the path ahead of them.

Clara didn't like this, of course, as nobody would. She didn't like spirits, and she especially didn't like spirits that were inclined to ignore them. Richard, however, seemed confident taking a step onto the bridge. His heavy footfall rang throughout the chasm in a loud echo, the spirit tilting its head forward as if acknowledging the sound.

"Be careful!" She shouted out as Richard continued taking slow, heavy, and loud footsteps towards the spirit. Once he was only five steps away, he lowered his hand and took a final step, before attempting to speak.

Though before he could even begin to utter words, the spirit turned around with an eerily loud shriek. Her jaw hung from her face in one loose strand of sinew, her tongue flapping uselessly against her chin and dribbling a dark green liquid onto the stone bridge. Richard took a step back when the spirit began to sing. Memories flooded to Clara of nails on a chalkboard as Richard staggered back, the spirit lowering her face to sing right into his. Then the song ceased and as quickly as it had come, the spirit dissipated, leaving behind only a faint green glow in the air. Turning, Richard began to shout to Clara.

"Come over! Its fine, she's gone, see!" He shouted, waving his hand around. Once his back was turned, however, the glow became much brighter than Clara's staff – The spirit re-appearing and slamming into Richard's back. He was immediately lifted from his feet and hurled forwards, landing just over the bridge's border – Load groans escaping him as he crashed into the floor. Satisfied that her bridge remained undisturbed, the spirit began to fade once more, until it remained as only a subtle glow hovering just under the black stone bridge.

"Richard!" Clara shrieked, running forwards, awkwardly in her robe, and planting her staff in a crack in the floor. He merely groaned and rolled over onto his back, coughing heavily for a minute or two. Peering around, Clara spotted the wide ledge between the cliff and the chasm to their right. It seemed to have a small enclosed area, almost like a cave, hidden away from the sight of travellers – And more importantly, spirits. With much effort, she hooked her hands under Richard's armpits and began dragging him over to the cave.

It had taken her a while to calm him down and get him inside the cave, and now that she had, he rested against the very back of it, a blanket tucked awkwardly around the edges of his armour. Clara had always failed at the medical side of things, and she was quite unable to tell if anything was wrong with him, or if he had merely been knocked out by the force. He could also have just been sleeping, and so she left it, leaning against the wall adjacent to the cave's entrance – Her staff leaning into the corner next to her. It was, once again, a cold night.

Morning came without so much as a hint of sunlight, though Richard had awoken from his sleep in the middle of the night, and rested against the far wall of the small cave, Clara having fallen asleep hours ago whilst on watch. She didn't wake from her own sleep until mid-day, when Richard had risen to his feet and stepped out of the cave and onto the ledge, peering down over the edge. As Clara glanced around the corner at him, it became evident to her that he was looking for another way over – Or through – the chasm, though she was certain it was not as easy or straight forward as that.

"You alright?" She asked as she yawned and stretched her arms out to the sides, afterwards, pushing herself to her feet and dusting herself off.

"I'm fine, don't worry. I wasn't too badly injured by the fall, a few bruises here and there I expect." Richard nodded slightly.

Clara adjusted her cowl and picked up her staff once more, crouching low to step out of the cave's entrance and stand next to Richard on the stone ledge. The sensation of standing over a seemingly bottomless chasm struck her the moment she stepped out onto the ledge. Her eyes glanced downwards, down into the dark where nothing living and good had walked for hundreds of years. The eerie glow still rested under the bridge, the Deathsinger, as the sign had named her, awaiting her next victim.

"Any ideas on how we're going to get by her?" Clara asked after a short while, tipping her staff's point in the direction of the bridge. Richard narrowed his eyes.

"I do have a few ideas. She's a Banshee, no arguing that, but she's also angry. I sensed depression when I stepped near her. I have this terrible feeling that we must restore something to her so that we may pass." Richard gave a nod, running a plated glove back through his hair.

"You think? Well, what could we restore to her, then?"

Richard thought for a moment before answering.

"I've been thinking on this since I woke up. Did you notice she only reacted when I stepped –onto- the bridge, not before and not after, but only once I had made my first step? And her face, her jaw is hanging off. I fear she is one of many spirits who suffered a… Somewhat gruesome death." He nodded, looking to Clara, who merely nodded in return. He then continued "But why the bridge? Well. I believe she may have been killed on the bridge, or nearby it certainly. It'd make sense that she'd be trapped here until something was restored to her."

A silence hung in the air between them for a while before Cordelia spoke.

"Her body. She wants her body back, am I right?" She asked. Richard only nodded.

"I believe so. The question is, where is it? If she was murdered on the bridge, it could be at the bottom of the chasm for all we know." He sighed, rubbing his forehead with his plated hand.

Clara also sighed, sitting down on a large rock next to the entrance of the cave.

"So, how do we find it, then?"

"I'm not sure, but. I think it may be underneath the bridge itself. Not in the chasm, I think she would be too drawn to her body to reach the bridge. Think about it though, what if her body is underneath the bridge somewhere, right in front of her eyes, and yet she can't see it?" Richard turned, strolling down the ledge towards the bridge again. Clara rose to her feet and walked at a fast pace to catch up.

"Do you think that's possible? That her body could be right there somewhere?" She perked an eyebrow as they reached the border of the bridge once more. The eerie glow began to seep through the black stone again, a fluctuating white sphere which began to unravel – The Deathsinger hovering in front of them once more. She turned to face them this time, already singing a low song. Clara picked up a few fragments of the song, though it was mostly unintelligible from what she could hear, a few words did catch her interest. Namely, the words "Caroline", "Death", and "Hidden".

Richard was quite busy peering around the edges of the bridge, looking for any signs of damage or of blood – Which he found fairly swiftly. On right side of the ledge, a much thinner space, rocks appeared to have been disturbed and dried, old blood smeared over the stones. The two of them paced over to it, allowing the Deathsinger's light to illuminate their path. The blood trail stopped at the ledge's edge, though as they peered down, they found it. On the next ledge down, only about two feet beneath the one they now stood upon, a body lay.

The body was of a woman, they could tell that clearly, bones exposed on every joint and the skull clearly visible. Her jaw had been ripped off – It lay on top of her. It lacked clothes, clearly some Highwayman years ago who hadn't received his pay. Clara felt sorry for the woman, though she didn't understand her attachment to the bridge. Crouching down, Richard reached down with one hand and was able to scoop the body up, lifting it and bringing it up onto the ledge.

"Reckon this is her?" Clara asked, lighting the end of her staff and holding it down slightly, though this did nothing to improve the look of the corpse, only serving to make it look twice as foul as before.

"Who else could it be?" Richard replied, though no answer came from Clara. He scooped the corpse up in his arms and began to walk back towards the bridge.

Once they reached the bridge and stood on it's border, the Deathsinger began to sang once more, staring lifelessly at the two of them. Richard muttered a few words then placed the body down on the bridge and took a few steps back, Clara following his lead. The spirit, the banshee of the bridge, floated forth, now staring at the corpse that lay before her – And then she let out a shriek. It didn't pain them as it had the day before, but rather it bolstered them, as if it were a motivational song of some kind. Then, in one fluent motion, the spirit dissipated and dropped into the corpse, which promptly rose back to it's feet as a shambling mess. Clara grimaced as the corpse then walked off, swerving around them, and heading along the path to Darkshire.

"Where do you think she's going?" Clara asked, narrowing her eyes. Richard merely frowned, turning and beginning to walk over the bridge before replying.

"To finish a journey started long ago, I imagine."

Clara frowned also, before walking quickly to catch up. Together, the two passed over the bridge and back onto the road.


End file.
